


soldier

by MyFandomCausesHanaji



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Drama, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Instability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Translation from Russian, Triggers, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyFandomCausesHanaji/pseuds/MyFandomCausesHanaji
Summary: he had to throw away the gloves, keep the new rifle, and get used to the void inside.





	soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [солдат](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13856433) by [murakaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakaru/pseuds/murakaru). 



> (lowercase is intentional)
> 
> Proofread: Himeneka

no one writes to the colonel except for war. she sends her letters written on rough brown paper that smells like gun grease and adrenaline. mustang is clenching the message in his burning palm ― fire eats the words away faster than acid. mustang doesn’t have enough willpower to call war and say “we are breaking up once and for all, don’t write here anymore,” because then the colonel will be left alone with his sticky fear.

 

post traumatic stress disorder ― everyone who has been in the front seat of a war has these words in their profiles. roy endured a full theater.

 

riza is twitching her eyebrows in question, but doesn’t ask. a remarkable tact can take root between two people who were killing together. roy is taking his trademark coat, saying goodbye to a joyful guard at the gates and is clenching the keys in his pocket. sharp metal teeth are piercing the skin, drawing blood.

 

roy hates weekends.

and his appartement.

and everything.

 

edward elric is waiting for him near the door, tired and worn out and not gentle. he is always like that these days. roy decides not to force him into gentleness and greeting kisses at a cheek, just lets him in the yellow kitchen. offers whiskey. edward declines.

 

“one alcoholic in this flat is enough.”

 

mustang drops himself in the armchair and hides his face behind a hand, because electric light burns his head from the inside. there is a low, rhythmic sound coming out of the dark bedroom. rusty water is dripping from a faucet in the bathroom. even the curtains here smell like loneliness. edward drops a couple of ice cubes in his glass, wipes wet circles on the table with his fingers. roy likes listening to edward’s silence. as if his migraine is just age. as if there is simply a “dumb horse” sitting near elric and not a soldier and a murderer.

 

“you are not a murderer, you are an idiot” 

 

at times roy thinks that edward can read his mind. crawl like a poulpe into the brain, softened by mental illness, curl around neurons, synchronizing with every dendrite and axon. or mustang is simply thinking out loud.

 

edward kisses his forehead, but doesn’t smile. anxiety rises in red through the white skin. edward says:

 

“you are too strong to allow ptsd to eat you alive. you are too strong for this shit, you hear me?”

 

roy mustang is too strong for this shit, see? he himself doesn’t think so of course. not when he is kissing scars on elric’s back, not when he leaves a crimson bite on his neck, not while he is lying in a cooling bed. edward is sound asleep beside him. golden hair on the grey worn sheets. the union of blossoming and decay concentrated in just one picture. mustang is brushing the narrow back, damp with sweat, with his hand. mustang is closing his eyes, and thin colorful stripes are crawling under his eyelids. like static on an old tv screen. There is a thin slit full of darkness between the two wardrobe doors. In the thin slit ― shining anthracite pupils. mustang doesn’t see them. they see mustang.

 

roy opens his eyes.

 

relax, and there is a movement on the side of his vision.

 

shadows sliding.

light refraction.

play of imagination.

 

“how many more excuses will you come up with for us, roy?”

 

mustang stands up carefully and walks to the bathroom. finds green nameless pills on a shelf. washes them down his throat with portwein. roy feels as if a strong hand clutches his head in its fingers and hits it to the tiling. to the bloody lumps, until the steel ring around his forehead rips, weakens.

 

he crushes the bottle in the mirror. a million tiny beasts reflect in the sputtering shards. mustang presses his bloody hands to himself, pushing the shards stuck there even deeper. when he covers his mouth with a palm to stop the scream, there is a disgusting taste between his teeth. at war roy, as everyone, exchanged his humanity for a new rifle and gloves. they promised to return it when it’s all over, but life rushed further, pulling him along. mustang drove away, and humanity was left on the battlefield, in sand and sun. he had to throw away the gloves, keep the new rifle, and get used to the void inside.

 

no one writes to the colonel, except for war. she offers to come and take what he forgot. roy is afraid that now humanity in him will explode. humanity doesn't fit him anymore. let some tawny ishval boy find it and take it for himself.

 

the sink’s bottom is staining in red. roy listens carefully. the same low rhythmic sound is coming from the dark bedroom, so edward didn’t wake up. for a start mustang tries to wash away the blood from his face, so he doesn’t look as if he ate someone. the room is blurring before his eyes, and roy doesn’t know if it’s because of the pain in his cut hands or because of the green pills. bile rises in his throat, and he lowers himself on the cold floor. there is not enough willpower in him to ask for professional help. to say “i am loosing it, do something”. roy is looking at edward impassively and tilting the shards between his fingers.

 

elric did wake up. he is standing in the bathroom entrance and clutching his jaw so hard, mustang can hear the creak. there is “god, is he having an episode again?” on edward’s face. and several pink lines from the pillow. there is fire behind edward’s back. 

 

there is fire behind edward. air smells like ash. roy clenches his throat with his hand, as if trying to close himself the access for oxygen. during fire most people die not from burns, but suffocation. smoke burns his lungs and settles with a bitter sand on his tongue.

 

mustang whispers:

“fire.”

 

edward smiles awkwardly. he is not trying to extinguish raging flames, not trying to help roy, not trying to save himself. he is not moving from his place at all. only his eyes are getting glassy and filling with pity. elric reaches with his hand, but then jerks it back in frustration. and walks away into the bedroom.

 

mustang whispers:

“fire.”

 

but there is no fire anywhere, roy.

and neither in you.

  
  
  



End file.
